When I was little, Easter Sunday was a favorite holiday because of candy and colored eggs and new dresses. When I got a little older, Good Friday became my favorite day of the Holy Week. Meditating on Jesus' sacrifice quieted the world around me and gave a different focus to suffering in general.
Now, as an adult, it has become Holy Saturday...that day of bewilderment for Jesus' friends...that day that seems to reflect most accurately the world around me.
The quietness, the ordinariness of Saturday is perturbing, especially after a major loss. When you think of those men & women whose journey with Jesus had suddenly jerked to a stop with the unthinkable: a broken and dead body... Maybe they went together to mourn at first but eventually each found their own solitary brand of grief. Maybe they went to bed numb and confused, as we do in grief.
We know better though because we live post Resurrection. We know how the story ends, right? But we might really be in our own dark Saturday.
Maybe you have found yourself wondering: Were we deluded by all the amazing things we heard about Jesus? Were we led astray by a magician? A myth? He said he was coming back but...where is he? What is he waiting for? Maybe he forgot? Maybe he changed his mind? Maybe he didn't mean it like that? Or maybe none of it was ever real.
This time of waiting, the stillness pregnant with tension of doubt and faith, is where we are, where they were. When the doubts and fears become louder than my faith and hope, I just remember that it is only Saturday. The story isn't over.